Home sweet home.
The apartment felt simultaneously familiar and alien.
I washed up and looked in the mirror, catching myself thinking that my own face was new to me. As if I were seeing it for the first time. A strange euphoria overcame me. Memories of the shootout, the music, the light, water droplets on my skin. A feeling as if I had missed all of this so much.
"Corps summoned a demon... Figure saw... H-how a spirit came from the deep..." The Voodoo's last words came back to me.
From the bathroom, I walked over to a small plastic board on which I drew two circles with a marker: V's Memories. The Other's Memories.
The first set was relatively clear. Vincent Price was born and raised in Night City. He was currently building a career in Arasaka counterintelligence. As for the other... That was more complicated. He was born and raised in what felt like another world. Many similar points, but plenty of differences. Also, he died there around 2023. He passed away in a hospital from complications following a virus. Furthermore, the other somehow knew part of Night City's history but perceived this place as fiction. An invented world that never existed. And now I'm here...
Moreover, the other's memory did not only concern 2076. Most of the information was about '77. These were strange images, sometimes resembling a game, sometimes his own thoughts.
How false are these memories? There is only one way to find out. I need to find some people that I shouldn't know. To confirm they exist. Would that be proof? Not yet. Perhaps my subconscious is playing cruel tricks on me. Maybe I glimpsed a person's file, didn't seem to remember it, but the info was stored somewhere and now surfaced. However, if one of my "predictions" comes true... That would be concrete proof. Irrefutable.
In the second circle, I started writing down the names I found in the other's memory.
Panam Palmer
Evelyn Parker
Johnny Silverhand — cross out, V himself knew him. He was a rock star plus a terrorist, after all. Continuing the list.
In total, I wrote down about two dozen names. Figure was there too. A blind netrunner based in Dogtown — that's how the other's memory described him to me. A Net genius. An evil genius, of course, like all Voodoo Boys. The dying netrunner suggested I find him. Not a chance! The Voodoo Boys screw everything that moves, and what doesn't move, they move and screw.
— No way. I'll help myself. If I even need help. So far, my well-being and mood are rather good.
I returned to the list. I need to check how much my new memories correspond to reality. Most likely they don't, but what if...
Among the list of names, I underlined one. Gloria Martinez. What do I remember about her? In '76, she will die after a crash during a shootout involving the Animals. That either already happened or will happen very soon. The year just started, but time is short.
— It's simple. I'll set a tracker trigger for her at work, via the surveillance program. If she has an accident this year, I will receive an alert immediately.
Alright. That's my solution to my "foreign" memory problem. If Gloria Martinez doesn't get into an accident or doesn't exist as a person at all, then my head is just full of nonsense. I need to go to a shrink, take some pills. Though even if these memories are false, they seem to have shaken up my life anyway. Given me a chance to look at myself through different eyes. Sometimes that's very useful.
— You need to learn how to shoot, V, — I told myself, looking in the mirror.
And how to throw grenades, and run, and many other things that might come in handy. Even a Corpo shouldn't rely too much on hired help. Next time, Jackie might simply not make it. I have over two hundred thousand eddies in my account. I should at least invest some of it in my own security.
I spent the rest of the evening savoring the euphoria of the recent shootout. I decided to focus on the very latest memories for now. I could be absolutely sure of those.
The next day, I first needed to stop by work at the Tower, and then head to the secretly rented data center, which, ideally, needed to be changed urgently or guarded. On the way to Arasaka Tower, I called the netrunner Okamura. I informed him that the Voodoo Boys, drawn by our network activity, had tried to zero me yesterday.
— Kusou! — the runner cursed. — We don't have time to change location. Pull a couple of Tigers in. I'll be ready by about four... No. Better make it five.
Tiger Claws. The chromed-out Yakuza of Night City, often employed by Arasaka for dirty and bloody jobs. I had contacts with several of their mid-level bosses. However, V didn't much like working with them. These gonks were notorious for their talent at creating problems and unnecessary corpses out of thin air. You don't put a rabid dog to guard your house, but we have no choice right now.
By half-past eight in the morning, I left the cab, finding myself in the shadow of towering skyscrapers. It was hard to shake the feeling that you were standing in the center of a universe ready to swallow you, chew you up, and spit you out. Arasaka Tower stood out as a black monolith even among other headquarters. Strangely, I liked skyscrapers. Even when looking at them from below, they seemed to me the embodiment of human might, not the opposite. I wanted to reach the top. Isn't that the mark of a "proper" Corpo's ambition? That's how they recruit us. First, you dream of the top of the world, and then you end up with fried brains, trying to follow the instructions of some fucked-up management.
Joining the crowd of Corps rushing to work, I followed V's familiar route to the Arasaka Tower checkpoint. Scanning, the guard's routine greeting, and I was at work.
First, the inquiry about Gloria. I was too curious. Then the report for the boss, negotiations with the Claws, and the trip to the data center.
Gloria Martinez. She exists. She lives on the streets of the City of Dreams and is alive for now. She is not a figment of my inflamed imagination. That's good already. Now all that remains is to set a trigger in the incident tracking system. A standard utility for my access level.
I opened the report that had been generated for me, containing superficial information, including a few photos taken for documents. A broad, plain, but quite attractive face. Thirty-six years old. Yes. It's her. A Medtech in Night City's free, God help us, healthcare system. In my opinion, they are something between corpse cleaners and looters, though you do find some golden souls among them trying to help people. I don't know if Gloria is one of them. For some reason, I have a whole story in my head that should begin with her death.
Let's try to find someone else. Lucina Kusinada. The program stalled for a few seconds and only gave me a few namesakes. Perhaps Lucy, unlike Gloria, either doesn't exist or is simply skilled at hiding.
However, I didn't have much time to dwell on this. A call with the Claws, a report to Jenkins, and a trip to Okamura demanded my attention.
At sixteen fifty-four, I was already outside the rundown premises of the secret data center. Five brightly dressed youngsters in red jackets were hanging around outside. They were standing by their motorcycles, chatting animatedly.
One of them gave me a long look, but seeing the Corpo emblem on my black jacket, he simply nodded and returned to the conversation.
In addition to the Claws, my supplementary security measures included the Pulsar and a couple of grenades in my bag. I'm still a so-so soldier, but better armed than not.
Inside, the usual gloom reigned. Only the ice baths and some keyboards were lit.
— V! Saikin dō, — the nervous Japanese man in the black jumpsuit began actively shaking my hand. — Everything is ready, as much as possible... I hope Jenkins believes your reports. Today, our goal is not so much to win as to survive.
— That's not a very Samurai attitude, Kentaro, — I joked, taking off my business suit and pulling a netrunner suit from the locker.
— All Japanese are Samurai, Americans are cowboys, and Russians are Cossacks? Drop it, — the netrunner mumbled, booting up the equipment. — Mostly we are all just people who want to live long and happily.
I lay down in the ice bath, but the suit helped prevent hypothermia, turning the cold into something pleasantly refreshing.
— Did you update the ice? — Okamura unexpectedly asked. — Hmm... Or did you install some new chrome? Intralace, right?
— How did you know? — I bluffed, not really understanding what he was talking about.
— Tests, V. The simplest diagnostics. You have an off-the-charts resistance to basic malicious scripts. Where did you score that? What kind of armor is that anyway?
— What kind of armor? I don't know myself, — I answered honestly, and then started lying like a bastard. — I just complained to Jenkins yesterday about our little adventure. He sent me to some top-tier ripperdoc. I have no idea what he stuffed me with. But if the defense metrics have increased, then thanks to him.
— Ah... — Okamura sighed with disappointment. — That's what it's like when the boss values you. Too bad I haven't experienced that yet.
Did he buy it? It seems so. But I myself have no idea where I got this new protection against scripts and other hostile software.
The cable was connected to the port in my head. Time to dive.
Reality faded from my eyes, and my free mind soared into the streams of information. Cyberspace stretched around us with countless blue lights. Okamura and I stood in the data center's small digital fortress. Here we were protected not by the Claws, but by ICE and combat software. However, we weren't planning to sit in this relatively safe location. A long needle towered in the middle of the fortress, pointing into the black void of the virtual heavens. The access point to the illegally launched satellite, which was currently hanging near the Crystal Palace, the largest entertainment and gambling hub in Earth orbit. It was into their network that we were trying to inject the worm.
— Well... — the virtual Okamura said nervously. — Pray if you believe in anything and let's start.
— Let's start, — I replied, touching the needle.
We were both immediately sucked into another space.
— Chikushou! — Okamura screamed as soon as we appeared in orbit.
That word was very close in meaning to the Polish "kurwa" or the Russian "Da blyad!"
The little digital fortress of the illegal satellite shattered into pieces. Judging by the alarming red flickering in the ruins, either black ICE or a wild AI had been here. And it probably hadn't entirely left. It was now dangerous for us to even be here.
Far in the distance, the digital fortress of the Palace shone. Further away than last time. Our satellite's orbit was changing. The equipment was already worn out and breathing its last. We had one more attempt. After this, everything here would finally fall apart.
— V, we need to leave, — the netrunner muttered. — We'll be fucked and dried out here before we even get close to the Palace.
— If we leave now, Jenkins will fuck and dry us out. We have to at least try. Come on. Carefully, avoiding the traps...
Easily said, "avoiding the traps," and much harder not to hit them when a digital monster, predatory and hungry like a spider just out of hibernation, is hunting you. However, for a long time, I managed to distinguish the infected tangles of the enemy's web among the normal threads of space. The main thing is concentration. Push away all memories of the past and plans for the future as much as possible. There is only here and now.
We screwed up halfway to the Palace. Okamura suddenly screamed, and everything around us flashed red. The threads of the malicious web turned into the tentacles of several monsters. Definitely not the Palace's black ICE. Wild AIs. Hungry creatures from the dark corners of the Net.
Okamura fled. At least he tried to. I remained motionless, feeling the monster entwine me. It was trying to pierce me through, find weak points, break through them, and rip apart and slice up the victim's structure. I knew perfectly well how this happened. Not Vincent Price. He wasn't taught this. It was me. The real me.
The moment the entity thought it had found vulnerabilities, I changed my structure, destroying and absorbing fragments of the enemy's code. How did I manage that? As instinctively as a human breathes or moves. My living body knew how to breathe, and my informational essence knew how to fight for its existence in the Net.
The AI immediately fell away from me. It stopped showing any aggression and even tried to communicate. It wasn't about the solidarity of Net demons. It simply understood that in a fight with me, it would clearly lose more than it gained. Wordlessly informing me that it would not attack, it went on to dissect the digital fortress of the illegal satellite. I, however, flew towards the Palace. I glided on the threads of information with an ease unavailable to ordinary netrunners. My virtual body had changed. It no longer pretended to be human, having disintegrated into separate tentacles.
Next stop, the Crystal Palace.
The defense of their digital fortress was astonishing. The reason V and Okamura were sent to find a hole in it, risking their lives, was Arthur Jenkins' incompetence regarding network security. He's one of those bosses who believes employees are capable of the impossible if you yell at them loud enough or promise large bonuses.
However, the Palace's digital fortress was created by netrunners against netrunners. Of course, there was also protection against entities like me. But it was no longer as perfect. Wild AIs don't usually try to embed corporate worms into a system. Most demons are quite primitive and predictable. But today I could boast a different level of thinking. Just as the monsters recently searched for breaches in me, my tentacles were now scouring for minimal vulnerabilities in the perimeter. I don't know how long it took. Here in the Net, alone with myself, my thinking changed. It partly returned to the state in which I had spent many years.
"Corps summoned a demon... Figure saw... H-how a spirit came from the deep..."
The Voodoo told me the truth. Strange for their kind, but even a broken clock is right twice a day, and even a liar tells the truth sometimes.
Finally. A thin, barely perceptible, but present breach. The result of an error during a structural reorganization. It would have been found eventually, but I had already seized the opportunity. Breaking through deeply was still impossible. The fortress's security software would detect too crude an intrusion, but I was able to release the worm. The job was done.
It was time to return, but would I be able to reclaim the body? I had to do it. I was obliged. To whom do I owe and am obliged? To the most demanding boss in the world—myself. To my ambitions.
Returning to the illegal satellite's little fortress, I didn't find Okamura there. He ran away, probably. Abandoned me and leaked back into reality. Not a Samurai. Good for him. Otherwise, I would have had to tear him apart, as if I were a vampire whose colleague accidentally discovered his true nature. A comparison not far from the truth.
Just before the return jump needle, I began to regain human form. The second possession of the body had to go differently than the first. The last thing I needed was to end up on the streets of Night City again with a jumbled head. No. That was too risky for the health of the new body.
While my structures were slowly and seemingly reluctantly returning to human form, several important ideas surfaced in my consciousness.
First, if I die in a human body, I will probably die permanently. Even if I survive and return to the Net, it's not certain that I'll find a new shell. Vincent Price wasn't the first attempt. Not even the tenth. I was very lucky with him due to a confluence of circumstances.
Second, I spent many years in the Net, but memories of that are practically inaccessible to me in a human body. My form of existence in Cyberspace was too different.
Dive back.
The second possession of the body went more smoothly and easily.
— V!? Are you alive?
Again, Okamura's persistent voice and slow adaptation to reality. Returning to the body was much more stressful for me than waking up for a regular runner. I was literally changing my form of existence. Hence the memory problems the first time. Now, too, much of what was connected with the Net was cut off from me. However, V's memories and my first life's memories remained intact.
— I planted the worm.
— You... What?! — Okamura nearly jumped out of his skin.
— You heard me. Check the response. Only once, or the Palace systems will find it faster.
— I know! I know! — the runner began nervously hitting the keys of several terminals. — There's a response! V, we did it!
Well, "we"? I did. But it was done. Okamura was almost tearing his hair out with joy. I just tiredly stated that I urgently needed to go home, and all reports could wait until tomorrow.
I took a cab, first driving around the city for a while and making a few maneuvers to cut off any potential tail. But this time, there seemed to be no Voodoo Boys. My well-being was slightly below average. My hands were cold, and my head felt a little dizzy. This was the price for the new exit from the body.
Returning to the apartment, I rushed to the now-familiar board. Under the two circles, "V" and "The Other," I drew a third one: "Demon."
So the sequence of my transformations could be described like this... The Other was born, lived, and died of illness in some other reality. He left full of regrets. Perhaps that's why my essence didn't melt away, didn't go to reincarnation or the afterlife. No. I thrashed around in the void. Clinging to it, and eventually somehow penetrated this world's Cyberspace. This was probably connected to space. Black holes, wormholes, places where the fabric of reality isn't tightly stitched.
Then I ended up in Cyberspace. Became a bodiless spirit there, fighting for my existence for years. I changed. I turned into what is called a wild AI here, but I didn't lose the desire to regain human form. Then I managed to occupy the body of Vincent Price. A netrunner who died due to an accident during a risky dive or...
Something cold and predatory stirred inside me. I had to be honest with myself. To speak the truth at least to myself, even if I was lying to the whole world.
I went to the bathroom. Washed my face and froze in front of the mirror, looking at an alien, but simultaneously my own face.
— Or... — I whispered aloud to better absorb the idea. — Or I killed Vincent Price. Killed him in the Net. Took his memories and his body... to live again. To be human again.
I don't have precise memories of this, but it really could have happened exactly that way. A netrunner meets a wild spirit in the Net. Tries to use it, but makes a mistake and becomes prey.
I smiled predatorily at the reflection, slowly saying in Russian:
— Ви не придёт. Его разорвали на части. Выпотрошили и сожрали. Надломился предательский лёд. Его руки подготовлены не были к драке. И он не мечтал о победе. Я теперь буду вместо него.
(V won't come. He was torn apart. Gutted and devoured. The treacherous ice broke. His hands weren't prepared for a fight. And he didn't dream of victory. I will take his place now.)